


Ain't Little and Ain't a Mermaid

by Sobari



Series: Unfinished Fics [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Gen, It's Discontinued, Merrow AU, This was suppose to be a Faraday/Vasquez fic, You Have Been Warned, but I just scrapped this idea, half-merrow to be specific, it's discontinued but I liked the prologue and wanted to share, so ye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sobari/pseuds/Sobari
Summary: Have you ever believed in the tales that traveled through the air? Tales of ghosts, spirits, creatures that hide in plain sight. Like how you can still hear the dead miners’ footsteps, running through the tunnels, still trying to find a way out. Or how the wife of Victor Jones mourns for her deceased family well after death. Or creatures that drain your blood dry at the dark of the night.Or even a particular one. They say that a beautiful voice could be heard at a nearby river or stream. A song that beckons stray wanderers far from home, never to be seen again.“You don’t really believe in shit like that, do you?” A voice laughed, clear and sweet, almost like a melody. If one would even bother to listen closely.





	Ain't Little and Ain't a Mermaid

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I had a while ago, but as I continued writing it, I found that it wasn't that satisfied with it because it was another one of those movies rewrites but in another AU thing.
> 
> Don't get me wrong, I love those kinds of fics. But for me, I didn't think it was having enough of oomph so I decided to just scrap it and use the idea for a different type of setting in the future.
> 
> So ye, like my tags say, this is unfinished and I doubt that I'll pick it up again. But I liked my prologue and thought I should share it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**1877**

He desperately tried to claw the ground to stall his fall. His heels dug into the earth in an attempt to slow down, but he was going too fast, tumbling heel over ass to do anything but roll down the slope like a pebble. His head hit a large rock with a loud grunt of pain. And then he was no more.

There was one long moment where he was airborne for a stretch over a few seconds or was that his head injury talking? It didn’t matter either way, because he hit the water with a painful smack. He was sinking, fading, his limbs were too heavy to help him to the surface.

So this is how he’ll die, huh? At least his pursuers weren’t chasing him anymore.

He should probably be largely alarmed at a large shadow swimming towards him, but he was slipping under the darkness of his mind to care.

When he came around again, he was coughing up water. He was fading again, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he could breathe underwater– Oh wait. Someone kept his head above the water and was currently swimming in a direction.

“Oh good, we got a Mexican.” A voice said dryly. That, itself, should be alarming enough. It should’ve been enough for him lash out and fend off his kidnapper, but he couldn’t even open his eyes, forget about even moving limbs.

The person grunted, shifting his grip on him, “Come on, muchacho. Almost there…” His back hit land, the person dragged more of it onto the dirt as water sloshed against his legs, threatening to drag him under again. Something heavy was pressed against his chest, making a humming noise before it pulled away. Something wet brushed against his face like a hand yet it didn't feel like one. It abruptly pulled away when he coughed.

His fingers twitched and he groaned as he tried to open his eyes pass the excruciating throbbing of his head. As if reading his mind, the hand gently stroked the back of his head where his injury was. Soon the throbbing faded into a dull ache. The frown lines he didn’t know he was making, smooth out gradually.

“I got you. You’re gonna be alright.” Soft and gentle the voice was, opposed to the grumbling and quips the stranger made while dragging him to shore. Most of them flew over his head or he just wasn’t able to catch.

Peering through slitted eyes, he could vaguely make out a red cloth of sorts hovering over him, the bright sun overhead and his hazy vision make it impossible to make out the stranger’s face. His eyes fell shut again, an alarmed voice echoed from afar as he floated away.

The next time he was awake, he wasn’t even sure if he was conscious or just another dream. He was in the woods or a place with a lot of trees. The scent of burning firewood caught his attention, making him sluggishly turn his head to see the figure’s back to him, donning a red feathered cloak. From the tone of their voice before, he was sure the person before him, was a man. Was he an Indian? But the fair-skinned hand the tossed another piece of wood into the fire told him otherwise.

He seemed to be cooking something but obviously, he couldn’t see what it was with the figure in the way. If the stranger knew he was awake, he showed no indication. The figure started humming. After a short while of listening, the man drifted off again.

When he woke up again, he felt refreshed as if the whole incident never happened. There was no pain, no blood, no indication that he just went tumbling down the slope to his death only to be saved by a red-cloaked figure that is nowhere to be seen.

He quickly patted himself down, settling down when nothing was stolen. He sat in silence, contemplating.

If it wasn’t for those cooked fishes laid out on a leaf, he would believe that it was all just a dream.

Or was it? Vasquez wondered. But this incident would fade from his mind with time, he had to keep moving in search of jobs. But if he ever came across whoever saved a person such as he… well… Thank them of course and pay them back. He never did like owing anyone.

✢✢✢✢

Have you ever believed in the tales that traveled through the air? Tales of ghosts, spirits, creatures that hide in plain sight. Like how you can still hear the dead miners’ footsteps, running through the tunnels, still trying to find a way out. Or how the wife of Victor Jones mourns for her deceased family well after death. Or creatures that drain your blood dry at the dark of the night.

Or even a particular one. They say that a beautiful voice could be heard at a nearby river or stream. A song that beckons stray wanderers far from home, never to be seen again.

“You don’t really believe in shit like that, do you?” A voice laughed, clear and sweet, almost like a melody. If one would even bother to listen closely. The sounds of glass being set down on the table were heard on the man’s far left.

“Who knows,” He chuckled gruffly, “I have yet to see such a thing with my own eyes. But I don’t doubt that there are things out there that hide from us.”

A different voice piped up, “Like outlaws and animals, right?” The whole table broke into snorts and chuckles. Some threw down some more coins to the pile at the center of the table.

The man shifted through his hand, adjusting the cards to where he wants them, “They say if you come across one, death is afoot.”

Some shook their heads at the claim as the first voice spoke up again in mirth, “Death is only afoot ‘cause some are foolish enough to wander deep into the woods where there are wild animals waitin’ to feast!”

The hefty laugh erupted around the table, “So some say, so some say.”

The owner of the first voice took a swing of his glass, a mischievous glint flickered in his eyes as he set it down, “If there’s one thin’ I believe in,” He spread out his cards on the table for all to see, “It’s that I won.”

Loud groans and grumbles sounded as those who haven’t folded, threw down their cards. Some looked at their hand in annoyance.

The chair made a loud grating noise as it slid backward, “Well, good sirs, it’s been mighty fun playin’ with y’all, but bedtime is callin’.” The figure tipped his hat slightly. He just set one foot out the door before a voice from the table.

“Ya ain’t cheatin’ are ya, son?”

Amusement flickered in the man’s green eyes from under his hat. His lips curled into a wicked grin, “No gentlemen. You’re just poor at the game.” And he bolted out of there before it could turn into a fistfight with him in the middle.

His giddy laughter rang loudly to the night sky.


End file.
